


Gazing at the Distant Lights

by Tam_Cranver



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Hush Sound
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-05
Updated: 2010-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-08 17:52:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tam_Cranver/pseuds/Tam_Cranver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greta always wanted an adventure, even if she had to switch clothes with a random stranger to get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gazing at the Distant Lights

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "A Summer Song" by Chad and Jeremy. Written for the 2008 bandom_solstice challenge.

The life of a princess, Greta thought with a sigh, was not nearly as romantic as the tales would have one believe. No knights in shining armor, no opportunities for virtuous maidens to outwit enchanted serpents, not even an evil stepmother—just long days of boring lessons and lectures on duty. "Bob," she said, "I need an evil stepmother."

"Easy enough," said Bob. "We'll just have to find a lady who doesn't mind if her husband's a million years old and excruciatingly unpleasant."

Greta made a face at him, stifling laughter. Bob was being completely disrespectful, but to be fair, her father was excruciatingly unpleasant. It was probably just as well that he'd had her brought up in another city and only ever sent for her when he wanted to show her off to visiting princes. Boring visiting princes. "Be serious. I'm in a terrible predicament."

"Who's not serious?" asked Bob. "I'm completely serious. People'll put up with a lot to marry a king. The evil part might be a bit tricky, though, depending on what you count as evil. We'll have to put an advertisement out."

Greta imagined the advertisement, and then imagined a woman trying to flirt with her father, and couldn't help it—she giggled, and hopped off the window seat to kiss Bob on the cheek. "You're the best, Bob Morris," she said. "When I'm queen, do you want to be prime minister? Because I could make that happen."

"Is there a job where you sit around all day making tons of money and having witty conversations with beautiful ladies?" asked Bob. "Because I want that job."

"If there isn't one like that, I'll make it just for you," Greta promised. It was a beautiful day outside, the sun reflecting off the trees in the courtyard and shining on the pond outside the palace walls. It kind of made Greta want to go on an adventure, trekking through deep, dark woods and hunting for hidden treasure. "Bob," she said, "Do I have to go to lessons today?"

"You do if you don't want Patrick to yell at me about responsibilities again." Bob made a face. "That man's got quite the pair of lungs on him."

"The secret is to distract him," said Greta. Patrick was really quite sweet, but he had a bit of a temper, and he was a lot more devoted to making sure Greta grew up to be a proper princess than Greta would have preferred. To be fair, it was his job, but then, it was Bob's job, too, and Bob had no problem helping Greta skip her stupid deportment lessons. Usually.

Bob started to shake his head, then stopped and blinked at something over Greta's shoulder. "Hey," he said, "you can try it out now. Your distraction, I mean."

Greta turned around, and sure enough, there was Patrick, looking slightly more flustered than usual. His face was red and he kept pushing his spectacles up his nose though they weren't slipping down the least bit, as if he couldn't help it. "So, um," he said. "You won't be having your deportment lesson today."

Greta couldn't imagine why she was getting an unexpected holiday, but frankly, she didn't care. She turned her head back around to Bob to grin at him before returning her attention to Patrick. "Why not?" she asked. She didn't even bother trying to look disappointed, because there was no way Patrick would believe it.

"You need to pack," said Patrick. "Your father wants you to visit him. At his new palace in Ramenia."

By 'visit,' of course he meant 'sit through boring banquets while I talk about you like a horse I'm trying to breed and you try to look alluring and chaste at the same time.' Splendid. On the whole, Greta thought she might have preferred the deportment lesson. Of course, she'd never been to Ramenia, so she supposed that might be something of an adventure.

The trip there was certainly exciting, for certain values of exciting. The roads were a complete mess, potholes and mud everywhere, and they had to stop half a dozen times because an axle had broken, or a horse had lost a shoe, or Bob had gotten sick and had to throw up in the bushes. This last was funny at first, but as the trip went on, the novelty of traveling began to wear off and the delay began to wear on Greta's nerves.

"Come on, Bob!" she shouted out the window. "We can't be a mile outside of Ramenia! Couldn't you stop puking just long enough for us to get there?"

Bob reached over his head and made a rude gesture, and Patrick sighed. "Your Highness," he said, "You do realize you'll be expected to be just a bit more proper at the court, right?" He made a face in Bob's direction and said, "You, too, Bob."

"Don't tell it to me," said Bob, standing up and wiping his mouth with a grimace. "Tell it to Little Miss—to Princess Greta, here." Greta stuck out her tongue at him.

"I knew I should have gotten her a maid," muttered Patrick. "I knew a manservant was a bad, bad idea."

"Well, the next princess you raise, you can do a better job on," offered Greta. She had no intention of actually angering her father, but mouthing off to Patrick was a time-honored tradition.

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Right," he said. "Are we all ready to go?"

Bob settled himself in next to Greta again, smelling like puke and dirt. "Next time," he said, "I'm aiming right at your lap."

Greta would have threatened him with terrible, terrible things, like cow pies on his pillow or worms in his shoes, but the cart started rolling again and at that moment, the spire of a castle appeared above the trees in the distance. "Oh, oh," she said, "Is that it? Is that the city?"

"That's it," said Patrick. He heaved a small sigh and said, "I'm going to need a good, stiff drink when we get there."

"You and me both," Greta said. Underneath the excitement of _finally_ getting there, she was having a hard time keeping back the knowledge that once she was there, there wouldn't be any opportunity for laughing loud or talking frankly or being herself _at all_ once they arrived at the palace. For just a moment, she let herself resent her father with all the anger she could muster. And she could muster quite a bit.

Even Bob seemed somewhat subdued as the castle grew closer. The music didn't help—someone was playing an accordion and singing from somewhere in the direction of Ramenia, and it was a mournful, savage, frightening song that sent shivers up Greta's spine and made her arms break out in goosebumps. On any other day, she would have loved it, but now it was making her bad mood less petulant and resentful and more ominous and unsettling.

The music stopped just as it was growing so loud that it sounded as if it was coming from their coach. Greta stuck her head out the window to see if she could see the musician. The city gates were a stone's throw away, and right in front of them was a woman with dark hair and ratty clothes and striped stockings, a little older than Greta. She was sitting on a barrel holding the accordion, and there was a hat at her feet with a few coins in it.

"Spare a little money?" the woman asked, standing up as they passed by her.

And to be sure, the music had weighed a little on her mind, but some might say that was the sign of good music anyway, being able to affect people like that, and anyway it had been very good. "Patrick," Greta said, "will you ask Ian to stop the carriage?"

Ordinarily, she wouldn't have even bothered asking, but she happened to know that Patrick was extremely fond of music. Sure enough, he didn't even bother to fake a grumble before pulling open the little window between the coach and the driver's seat and saying, "Ian, could you stop for a minute?"

They rolled to a stop, and Greta hopped out, Bob a step behind. "That was wonderful!" she said to the woman. "So creepy!"

The woman smiled crookedly and said, "I like a little creepiness."

"Me, too," said Greta. She turned to Bob. "Bob, do you have my money purse?"

Bob rummaged around in his knapsack for a minute before pulling out Greta's little coin purse and handing it to her.

Greta wasn't sure just how much you gave musicians who played creepy music outside the city gates, but she grabbed a handful of gold coins and handed it to the woman. "I'm Greta," she said.

"Amanda," said the woman. She looked at the money in her hand and her eyes widened; she shot a quick glance at the carriage and took a step back. "I didn't expect to be playing for the princess," she said, making a little curtsy. Her dress was too short for it to really work. "I'm outside the city limits," she added, sounding momentarily defensive.

Greta was baffled for a moment, before she remembered that the royal insignia was painted on the side of the carriage. She still didn't know why Amanda had added the bit about city limits, though. "Yes, I know," she said. "I didn't expect to be hearing music here. Are you a traveling musician?"

Amanda straightened up and shrugged. "You could say that, I suppose. I don't get very far." She gave Greta a sharp-eyed, questioning look and said, "Do you play anything?"

"Yes," Greta said, surprised and pleased. People didn't usually ask her questions or talk to her like she was a normal person much, or at least, people who weren't Bob or Patrick didn't. It was so exhausting to have to be the princess all the time, and so refreshing to meet someone who'd have conversation with her without ending every sentence with 'Your Highness.' "I play the piano, and sometimes Bob and I sing together."

Amanda smiled at that. "I play the piano, too." Her smile turned rueful, and she added, "Well, when I can find a piano, I do."

Patrick cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Miss…."

"Palmer," said Amanda, fixing Patrick with a wry look.

"Miss Palmer." Patrick gave her a tense smile and turned to Greta. "Your Highness, we really need to get going. Sundown's only in a few hours, and your father will be expecting us for supper."

Ah, well. Greta hadn't expected much fun on this trip, anyway. "All right, Patrick," she said, trying not to sound too disappointed.

"Great," said Patrick, his voice relieved and his smile still nervous. "I'll just run ahead to the gate and sort out the traveling papers."

"They're not gonna let her in?" Bob snorted.

Patrick rolled his eyes. "It's just a, a security thing." He took a few steps towards the gatehouse, and then stopped to look back at Greta and Bob. "Don't…okay, don't go anywhere. Seriously."

"We'll be good. Promise." Greta waved at him and gave him her sweetest smile.

"Right," he said, nodding. "I'll just be a minute." He looked one more time at them with a stern kind of worry before walking away and vanishing into the gatehouse.

Greta let her smile drop and made a face at Amanda. "I wish I had your job," she said. "I have a piano, but I never have any time to play it." Amanda looked supremely skeptical. She didn't say anything, but Greta could just _sense_ her objections. "I mean it," she said. "I never do anything important or interesting, but I do a lot, especially at court. It's all dances and feasts and making small talk, all day, every day."

"Hell," said Amanda with a short, breathless laugh, "I could do that." She immediately dropped her eyes and said, "No offense."

"No, you're right," said Greta. An idea was niggling at the edge of her mind. "You _could_ do it. Anyone could." It was foolish, maybe crazy, but now that it had crossed her mind, she couldn't let the notion of freedom slip away. "Hey," she said, "how'd you like to be the princess for a day or two?"

"_What?_" Bob and Amanda had spoken at the same time.

"You know. Amanda puts on my clothes, I put on hers, Amanda goes into the city with you and I go have an adventure, and then I'll come back tonight or tomorrow and we'll switch back."

"I don't think anyone's going to mistake me for you," Amanda said, eying Greta critically.

Greta had to admit, Amanda was taller and brunette and had very distinctive eyebrows, so it wasn't likely that anyone who had even a remote acquaintance with Greta would confuse the two of them, but still…. "Doesn't matter," said Greta. "I've never been to the palace at Ramenia, so none of the staff there know me, and since I'm not likely to see my father or any of his advisers for a while, the only people who'll know you're not me are Patrick and Bob."

"You have got to be kidding me," said Bob.

"I'm serious!" Greta said, turning to him with her very best serious, persuasive expression. "You know Father won't see me at all for probably a week—not until he's gathered enough suitors to throw a suitably boring ball. Nobody at the Ramenian court knows me. Amanda!" She turned back to Amanda and looked as sincere and imploring as she could. "I know you could pass for a princess, couldn't you? It's really only the clothing—I don't pay any attention in deportment lessons, anyway."

"I could probably wear fancy clothes for a day or two, yeah," said Amanda dryly.

"Oh my God, Greta, this is a terrible idea," said Bob, looking over at the gatehouse anxiously. "Patrick's going to kill me."

"Oh, pshaw, Patrick wouldn't kill anyone," Greta said dismissively. "And this is a great idea. I get some fun, and, and…." She gestured towards Amanda. "Amanda gets to go to a couple of great dinners, and—anything you want out of my closet, you're welcome to it." Something occurred to her, and she added, "And I bet there's a piano at the palace, if you want to play."

"Am I gonna get executed for treason or something?" asked Amanda, one eyebrow raised.

"Am _I_ gonna get executed for treason?" Bob echoed.

Greta's father was a dried-up old creep, but even he couldn't be so cruel as to punish Amanda and Bob and Patrick for such a silly little thing. "No," she said firmly. "I'll be back and bored out of my wits before Father even knows I'm gone. And if anything goes wrong, you can blame me."

Amanda looked curiously at Greta. "You really want to do this, don't you?" At Greta's nod, she asked, "What are you planning on doing, anyway?"

The array of options momentarily dazzled Greta. "Oh, lots of things. Go find some mud puddles to splash in, or maybe a local shop, or—climb a tree, or buy a beer at a tavern, or anything!"

"Anything, huh?" Amanda said, looking amused. "Well, who am I to deny the princess anything?"

"That's the spirit!" said Greta, unable to stop herself from clapping her hands with joy. She turned to give Bob a look until he sighed.

"All right," he said. "But hurry up and change before Patrick gets out again." He shot another nervous look in the direction of the gatehouse.

"Well, look in the other direction, then," Greta told him, and he turned around. Amanda was a lot quicker about getting out of her clothes than Greta was, probably because of all the layers and laces in Greta's outfit. It was a lot easier and freer to pull on Amanda's frayed stockings and worn dress and then help Amanda lace up the gown in the back.

"Oh!" Greta exclaimed when she had finished getting Amanda into the gown. "You look wonderful!" And she did—imposing and majestic, like a queen.

Amanda squinted at her and said, "You kind of look like a ragamuffin child."

That was the point, of course, so Greta didn't take offense; she just beamed at Amanda and yelled, "Hey, Bob, have a look!"

Bob turned around slowly, as if afraid of what he was going to see. He just snorted with laughter at the sight of Greta, and Greta stuck her tongue out at him. When his eyes swept over to Amanda, though, his jaw dropped and he swallowed audibly. "Oh, wow," he said. "You look…."

"Think I'll be able to be a convincing princess?" asked Amanda, striking a pose.

"I think…." Bob swallowed again and nodded eagerly. "Yeah. Um. Definitely." He blinked a few times and said to Greta, "Hey, why don't you leave now and get a head start? You know Patrick's gonna nip this thing in the bud if he catches us." He didn't sound nearly as freaked as he had a minute ago, and he had said _us._ Greta smiled.

"Okay," she said. "Oh, wait!" She grabbed a piece of parchment out of Bob's bag and scribbled out, This is Amanda Palmer, who is dressing in my clothes and assuming my name under my orders. She and Bob Morris and Patrick Stump are not to be blamed for this deception; it is all my doing. Greta Salpeter, Princess of the Realm. She closed it with a somewhat squishy wax seal fished out from the bottom of the bag and pressed it shut with her signet ring, which she put into her pocket. It wouldn't do to give herself away as easily as that. "Here," she said, handing the note to Amanda, "So you don't get in trouble."

"Thanks," said Amanda, and she stuffed the letter down the front of her dress.

"All right then." Greta could scarcely believe this was happening. "I guess I'll see you soon, then."

Amanda nodded. "Have fun."

"Yeah," said Bob, starting to look worried again.

There was no point in delaying anymore. Greta made sure Amanda's worn black shoes were laced on tightly, and then she dashed past the gatehouse. The guards would still be too busy with Patrick to worry about her.

The city was _wonderful._ She was still trying to avoid being caught by Patrick, but it would be completely suspicious to actually run through the streets, so as she walked briskly down avenues and alleys she eagerly drank up the sights of dirty two- and three-story buildings, of signs, both freshly-painted and weather-beaten, for the smithy and the taverns and the horse farrier, of little shops selling produce and baked goods. And the people! There were well-dressed women shopping, and men in messy work clothes, and ragged little children playing tag among the crowds, and not a person was looking at Greta as if she were anything other than a normal eighteen-year-old girl.

Greta had never been happier in her life. She could barely keep herself from skipping along the cobblestones and singing at the shopkeepers.

She strolled past a long line of covered booths selling everything from candles to woven scarves to carved wooden children's toys, but she couldn't decide on anything—it was all too splendid—so she kept on walking. At the corner where the street with the booths met a street full of close-packed apartment buildings, there was a fountain. The water looked lovely and cold, and there were two boys about her age sitting on the edge of the fountain, one of them with a lute and the other with a small drum.

She took a drink of water. It had an ugly metallic taste and was kind of lukewarm, but it soothed her thirst, which was all it really had to do. Straightening up, she walked around to where the boys were sitting.

"Hello," she said. "I'm Greta."

The boy who had been aimlessly strumming the lute paused and said, "I'm Chris, and this is Darren." Darren waved.

"What are you playing?"

Darren shrugged. "Not much. We were busking for most of the day, but I think people are pretty much done spending money today."

Chris scowled at the ground. Greta hadn't noticed, but there was a large hat sitting at their feet, with only a few coins in it. They were clearly musicians like Amanda, who depended on passersby to give them money, but they didn't seem to be too successful at it.

"Hey," she said to Chris, "if you're not busy now, could I play your lute for a minute?"

Chris looked surprised by the request, but he said, "Sure," and handed over the lute. It was kind of beat-up looking, but it felt warm and solid in Greta's lap, and when she strummed it, the strings rang out true and clear. She began to hum a bit of song that had been rattling around in her head after hearing Amanda's song, a sort of eerie, ghostly thing, and when she had the melody clear enough in her mind, she began to find the fingerings on the lute. She hadn't had nearly the training on lute that she had on piano, but both Patrick and Bob played, so she knew her way around a lute fingerboard.

"Oh, that's nice," Darren said, tapping out a rhythm on his drum that matched the song Greta had found herself singing. The sound startled her, and she stopped.

Chris frowned. "Don't stop," he said. "Or, wait, does that song have words?"

Greta shrugged. It didn't really, not yet, but she had some ideas.

"Well, if it does, you could give me back my lute and you could sing and we could play." He gave her a crooked smile and said, "You have a nice voice."

It was the nicest offer she'd ever gotten from two complete strangers who had no idea that she was the princess. She smiled at Chris and handed the lute back, only a little disappointed at having to give it up again. He took it with another little half-smile and plucked a few strings experimentally, picking out the melody Greta had been singing and inserting harmony chords while Darren looked at him intently, tapping out a tentative rhythm. After a few minutes, Chris turned to her. "Well," he said. "You wanna sing?"

She was a little nervous at first, that they wouldn't like her singing or would think the song she'd made up was stupid, but they seemed as thoroughly engrossed in the music as she had been when she was figuring out the song, and soon she let her mind wander to the lyrics, trying to make up a story that fit the music.

"Hey," said Darren when Greta's song came to what seemed like an end, "Do you know 'The Shepherd and the Giant?'"

She did, so they sang and played that one, too, and then a song Patrick had taught her when she was a little girl, and then a song Chris had heard in a tavern, and then a dance tune, and then a song that a traveling minstrel had played for Darren. By the time they were done, the sun was sinking behind the buildings and they had earned two more silver pieces and seven more copper pennies.

"Wow," Darren said when the streets around the fountain were starting to empty out, "you ought to sing with us more often."

Chris nodded. "Yeah, and if you have a lute, you could bring it, and one of us could play the melody and the other one the harmony."

"I'd love to," said Greta, feeling as if her heart would burst for happiness. She'd made friends, all on her own, friends who didn't even _know_ she was the princess.

Chris heaved a sigh. "We'd better pack it in," he said. "Curfew's in less than an hour."

"And my mother will be worried about me," said Darren. He dumped out the pile of coins and divided them into three even piles, handing Greta one of them.

"Oh, no," said Greta. "I couldn't take this."

"Why not?" asked Chris with a frown. "We wouldn't have earned nearly so much if you hadn't come to sing with us."

"I just did that for fun," said Greta. "I couldn't take your money." Darren's clothes were threadbare, and Chris didn't have any shoes, and Greta didn't need money at all. She put the coins back down, splitting them between the other two piles.

Chris looked like he wanted to argue, but Darren just bit his lip and plucked out one of the silver coins. "At least take this," he said. "A thank you for playing with us, because it was fun, and something to make you want to come and join us again."

Greta didn't like to take any money at all from two boys who clearly needed it, but she didn't want to offend them, either, so she closed her hand around the silver piece and said, "Thank _you._"

Chris looked vaguely placated, and he said, "Where do you live? We could walk you back, if it's not too far from the Market District."

Greta had figured she'd find an inn or something for the night, and she thought she could probably find one on her own all right. "Oh, that's all right," she said. "I live right around here. It's not a long walk at all."

"All right," Chris said with a shrug. He slung his lute over his shoulder and turned to Darren. "Are you ready?"

Darren slid his handful of change into his pocket and stood. "Yeah. Bye, Greta. Will we see you tomorrow?"

Greta was having the time of her life, and she wasn't any too eager to head back to the boring feasts and even more boring suitors at the palace, but on the other hand, she didn't want to force Amanda to deal with her father, either. "Maybe," she said. "Depends on what else I have to do."

"Okay," Darren said. "We're here all day, if you want to come by."

Maybe she would, at that. "All right," she said. "Maybe I'll see you."

Chris and Darren nodded and waved, and she watched as they vanished down a dark street running perpendicular to the street with the shops. She was alone again.

She ambled aimlessly along down the street in the opposite direction from Chris and Darren until she came to a building that looked like an inn. Inside was a sweaty little man poring over a large book behind a desk. "Excuse me," she said to him. "Can I get a room here for tonight?"

"That depends," said the man irritably. "Do you have five silver coins?" The way he was looking at her, sort of scornful and disgusted, said that he thought she didn't, and she almost wanted to pull the signet ring out of her pocket. Instead, she felt around for her money purse, and oh. Oh, she had left it with Bob. All the money she had was the silver piece Darren and Chris had given her. "I was just wondering," she said, and gave the man behind the desk a snooty look.

She tried every inn on the street, but five silver pieces was actually one of the cheapest prices she could get. Some of them were three or four, but she couldn't pay that, either; some were as expensive as ten or fifteen silver pieces, or a gold piece; the man behind the desk at one had said she could have the room for free, if she were willing to perform some service to pay for her keep, but the leering, menacing smile on his face had made her skin crawl, and she'd gotten out of that one and run a block before her heart stopped racing.

It was almost totally dark, now, and she still had nowhere to stay. Theoretically, she supposed, she could walk to the castle and present her signet ring, but she really didn't want to face her father's wrath yet, and besides, though she could see the castle's towers in the distance, it was probably a few more hours' walk to get there, assuming she didn't get lost, and her feet were really starting to ache at this point. Well, she told herself, she had wanted an adventure, after all. Surely, if she found an out-of-the-way sort of alley, she could camp there for the night, and head for the palace in the morning.

Her stomach growled, and she thought on the way she'd look for something to eat.

All the shops were closed, though, which was rather unfortunate. She really should have bought something earlier, when the streets were still bustling with shoppers. Still, it wasn't all bad. As she walked along the street where she'd seen the line of booths during the day, she saw an alley with a dark, squarish sort of shape against the wall of a shop. As she went closer, she found it was a refuse bin, and the shop next to it was clearly some sort of bakery, because the bin was full of the ends of bread loaves and burnt pieces of pie. The whole alley was covered in an awning, and Greta felt rather proud of herself for finding dinner and a place to stay all in one go.

She dug through the bin eagerly and pulled out half a loaf. This was just like something out of a book, she thought happily, and she took a bite. It wasn't half bad—a little stale, but still good, with a nice, hearty wheaty flavor.

"Whoa," came a deep voice from the opposite end of the alley. "I've eaten out of the trash before, but I never got _excited_ about it."

Greta looked up. Standing between two buildings a little way down the alley was a tall, skinny man silhouetted in the light of the street lamps. Surely if he were a thief or a scoundrel, she thought, he would have already come closer to steal her purse, if she had one. So she called out, "This bread's actually quite good. Do you want some?"

She couldn't make out the man's facial expression, but his voice was toneless as he said, "No, thanks. Why don't you come here?"

Perhaps she was being foolish, but it wasn't as if she couldn't hold her own in a fight if she really wanted to; she'd made Bob cry countless times growing up, pulling his hair and knowing where to kick. She drew a little closer, and as she did, another man approached the skinny one, this one slightly shorter with wild dark hair.

"Who's this?" he asked the skinny man.

"Some girl eating out of the trash bin," the first man said flatly, and the second man's face went pale and horrified.

"Oh, don't, don't eat that," said the second man, turning to Greta. "Here, wait a second." He ran back to a little booth a ways down the street and came back with an apple and a cheese-covered biscuit. "Please," he said, and he held the food out to Greta. "Take this."

"All right," she said. "All I have is a silver coin, though, I don't know how much this costs." She pulled the coin out of her skirt pocket, but the man shook his head furiously.

"No, no, just take it."

"My brother, the businessman," sighed the skinny man, but he nodded at Greta. "Go on."

"Well, thank you," she said, and she put the coin back in her pocket and took the biscuit. It was cold, but still good, and she finished it off quickly before biting into the apple. She hadn't realized she was so hungry. When she'd eaten the apple, she smiled politely at the men, who'd watched her eat with concerned expressions, and said, "I'm Greta."

"I'm Gerard," said the wild-haired man. "And this is my brother, Mikey."

"Pleased to meet you," said Greta. She hoped they weren't bandits or scoundrels like the man in the frightening inn, because they seemed rather nice so far.

"Do you have someplace to spend the night, Greta?" asked Gerard, pursing his lips worriedly.

"I was just going to sleep in this alley," she said. "It's got an awning over it and everything!"

A smile twitched at the corner of Mikey's lips, but Gerard looked profoundly unhappy, and he gave Mikey a questioning look. Mikey rolled his eyes and said, "_No_, Gerard. We don't have the space and we don't have the money. Think of the baby."

Gerard looked even more profoundly unhappy at that, and said, "But we can't just let her sleep out on the streets like this! There are all kinds of, of _bad_ people in this city, and think how terrible you'd feel if something bad happened to her!"

Greta understood, now—they thought she was a poor person, like Chris or Darren, only so poor that she had to sleep in alleys and eat out of rubbish bins all the time. She couldn't let them worry like that, even if it did end up spoiling her adventure, so she said, "Oh, nothing bad's going to happen to me. I'm the princess."

It was almost comical, like watching some kind of mechanical toys operating in tandem; Gerard's eyes grew huge, while Mikey's narrowed into slits as he fixed Greta with a sharp gaze. "What?" he said. It hardly even sounded like a question.

"I'm the princess," she repeated. "I know I don't really look like a princess, but that's because I changed clothes with a musician on my way here, because I didn't want to sit at stupid banquets with my stupid father."

Spoken out loud like that, it didn't sound very plausible, and clearly the brothers agreed, because Gerard was looking at her with a pitying expression on his face and Mikey looked supremely distrustful.

"Mikey…." Gerard began, but Mikey scowled.

"For fuck's sake, you want some crazy person to sleep in our house with your wife and infant daughter—and _my_ wife, for that matter—across the hall?"

Greta felt a bit offended. "I'm not crazy," she said, and she pulled out her signet ring. "See? That's the sign of the royal family."

Gerard leaned closer to look at it. "Holy shit," he breathed. "Where'd you get that?"

"My father, the king," said Greta. "I told you, I'm the princess."

"Right," said Mikey slowly. He peered at Greta appraisingly, as if he were weighing her up and judging what he saw. She didn't entirely like it.

Gerard put a hand on his brother's arm. "Mikey, we can't…."

"What about Gabe?" Mikey interrupted. Gerard made a face, and Mikey sighed. "No, think about it," he said. "The garbage-eating, the stealing--"

"I didn't steal anything!" Greta exclaimed, offended.

"….the crazy," Mikey continued, acting as if he hadn't even heard Greta. "She'll fit right in. Besides, you know they've got plenty of money, and they're good people. They won't hurt her."

"Stealing's pretty dangerous," said Gerard with a frown. "They wouldn't hurt her, but she might get hurt." Oh, God, thought Greta, Gabe—and whoever else they were talking about—was a _bandit_, an actual bandit. She supposed she ought to be afraid, but the thrill making her arms jittery and her chest too small to contain her heart was more about excitement than fear.

"Well, she might get hurt living on the streets, too," Mikey said, as if the argument was concluded.

The two of them seemed to have a silent discussion, then, conducted entirely with the slant of their eyebrows and the twist of their mouths, before Gerard turned to Greta with a hesitant expression on his face. "You really shouldn't sleep in the alley, you know," he said. "If you'd like, we have some friends who live right outside the city, and we're pretty sure they'd be able to put you up for the night, maybe even longer."

"All right," Greta said. Gerard and Mikey seemed like respectable sorts of people, even if they were friends with bandits, and she was really getting quite tired. Any place to sleep was a good place, as far as she was concerned.

"Right," said Gerard with a quick smile. "Let me go and…." He dashed off to a dingy little house behind the little booth where he'd gotten the biscuit. In the doorway, Greta could see a dark-haired woman holding a baby. Gerard and the woman exchanged some words and a kiss, and he kissed the baby on the head before running back to Mikey and Greta. "Lindsey says to be back by midnight," he said. "I told her to tell Alicia where we're going."

"Great," Mikey said, sounding a little impatient under his calm tone. "Let's go."

The walk out of the city wasn't long—apparently, there was a back way. When Greta asked if they'd have to show papers to any guards, Mikey said that there weren't any guards at that door. Greta would have asked why, but Mikey and Gerard both seemed rather cagey about it, so she decided it was to do with something secret and illegal—probably smuggling or something—and didn't ask any more.

It was a cool night, with a clear black sky and a thousand stars casting a misty bluish light over the woods outside the city. It felt beautiful and wild and ancient, and Greta probably would have enjoyed it a lot more if her feet hadn't ached with blisters and her limbs hadn't felt like lead. She wasn't used to this much walking in one day.

They finally stopped in front of what looked like a cave, its entrance blocked off by large stones. Greta wondered if Mikey and Gerard's friends actually lived there; the alley might not have been her bed at the palace, but it was probably more comfortable than a _cave_. "Gabe!" Mikey called. There was no answer but the echo of Mikey's voice. "It's Mikey Way," Mikey called again. "I've got to talk to you." Still no answer. Mikey sighed. "The worm seeks an audience with the cobra," he called, and one of the rocks moved aside to reveal a man, even taller and skinnier than Mikey, with a bright smile on his face.

"If it isn't Mikey fuckin' Way," he said, skipping out of the cave and shaking Mikey's hand. "And Gerard! How's things, Gerard? How's the book coming?"

"It's all right," said Gerard with an uncomfortable little shrug. "Hard to find the time to write, but, you know, I have ideas. But, um, I should--Greta, this is our friend, Gabe Saporta. Gabe, this is Greta."

"Oh, like the princess?" Gabe asked, and Mikey groaned.

"Don't encourage her," he said.

Greta was too tired to stamp her foot with frustration, but that didn't stop her from trying. It probably looked more like she was tired and trying to give one of her sore feet a rest by leaning on the other one, but it was as close to a stamp as she could give. "I _am_ the princess," she said.

Gabe raised his eyebrows, and Gerard sighed. "We found her in the alley by our stand," he said. "She was eating out of the garbage, and she said she was gonna sleep in the alley, so we thought…." His voice trailed off nervously. He worried his lower lip with his teeth for a moment before saying, "Sorry to impose, but could she maybe stay the night with you?"

"God's thumbs," said Gabe. "How on earth do you find these people?"

"Just lucky, I guess." Mikey didn't have to sound so glum about it, really. It wasn't like Greta had _asked_ him and Gerard to interrupt her mid-bread loaf.

Gabe scratched his chin thoughtfully. "No, no, I think it's more that like attracts like." He shrugged expansively. "Okay. I'm game. I can put up your princess for the night." He smiled hugely again and said, "Now you have to come in. The rest of the gang will be terribly hurt if you don't come and say hello."

"I don't know," said Gerard, shifting back and forth from foot to foot. "We're supposed to be back by midnight, and…."

"It's scarcely half-past ten now!" said Gabe with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Come on, be a good sport."

Gerard still looked hesitant, but Mikey gave Gabe an amused half-smile and vanished into the dark of the cave. Gabe grinned triumphantly and made a large, dramatic gesture ushering Gerard and Greta in. Greta wasn't about to go back and tell Bob she'd been a coward, so she strode firmly into the black space between the rocks.

Inside the cave, she was surprised to find that the floor wasn't wet or rocky or cold at all—there was a passageway lined with dry sand, and she thought she could see the flickering orange light of a fire a ways down and off to one side. She followed the light, and the sound of murmuring voices, along the narrow stone corridor.

After a minute or so, she emerged into a large open space with a fire. Sitting around the fire were three strange men, a woman, and Mikey, all of whom looked up as she stepped in. Greta couldn't help but feel a bit nervous—she didn't know any of these people, and the notion of sleeping in a den of bandits was a great deal more appealing when you were reading about it than when it was a definite possibility in your near future. Still, she was the princess, so she set her chin at a regal, determined angle and curtsied to the assembled people.

One of the men, as tall and thin as Gabe but with wavier hair and a longer face, laughed, and the man sitting next to him looked at Greta with an utterly baffled expression. Mikey sighed, and the woman stared at Greta, her face as unreadable and smooth as the statue of a goddess. Greta felt her cheeks burn. It wasn't as if she'd never been the center of attention, but…well, she felt rather exposed without the assurance of knowing she would be treated like royalty. What's more, the woman was strikingly beautiful, with long legs and delicate features and waves of shiny dark hair—Greta didn't know why that should make any difference at all, but it did.

"Well, friends, look who's come to see us!" Greta started at the sound of Gabe's voice. She hadn't realized that he and Gerard had come in, and she whirled around to look at him. He was beaming at the little cluster of people, and he made a sweeping motion with his arms. "Our old companions the Way brothers have come to pay a call, and they've brought their charming new acquaintance, Princess Greta."

"_Princess_?" one of the strange men said with a snort. He didn't look much more than a boy.

"That's what she said," said Mikey. "And she had the ring to prove it."

The man who had looked baffled before gave Greta another look, keen and knowing. "Ah," he said. "So she's one of us, then."

Mikey shrugged. "That's what I was thinking."

"I'm not a _bandit_," Greta said indignantly. Really, she wasn't the sort who thought royal blood made you better than anyone else, but she resented being thought of as a thief. "I've never stolen anything in my life."

"Because you're the princess," the tall stranger offered helpfully.

"Well…yes!"

The woman made a rude noise, and the boy shot her a quick grin. Greta felt her temper rise. "I don't understand why none of you will believe me!" she said. "All I wanted was one day, one day when I didn't have to sit at boring banquets and simper and prance about like an idiot, but I forgot my money and all the inns are shamefully expensive—and some of them are just shameful—and I've been walking _all day_ and everyone thinks I'm a thief and…." She was breathing hard, now, and she could feel tears burning at the corners of her eyes.

Gabe dropped an arm like a heavy, warm scarf around her shoulders. "There, there, Princess," he said, and she couldn't tell from his tone whether he was serious or not. "I know exactly what you mean. None of these simpletons believed me when I had my vision of the serpent god, either."

"You and your cobra," said the tall stranger exasperatedly. "Come on, Princess, sit down. You, too, Gerard."

Greta stepped hesitantly closer as Gabe settled himself next to the tall man, but Gerard stood awkwardly by the entrance, wringing his hands. "I don't know," he said, looking anxiously at Mikey. "Maybe we ought to go. I don't like…I mean, the guards. We're not supposed to be out past curfew."

Mikey's expression made it clear just how little he worried about being out past curfew, but he unfolded his skinny limbs and stood up, waving half-heartedly at the group around the fire. He drew close to his brother and whispered something to him.

Gerard wrinkled his nose. "Mikey, I don't…."

"Think of Helena." Mikey's expression was stern and implacable.

"What's up?" asked Gabe, standing up again and walking over to where the brothers were standing. The men in Gabe's group looked on curiously, so they at least were as ignorant as Greta. The woman's expression was still totally unreadable.

Gerard looked like would have rather cut off his own hand than say whatever it was he had to say to Gabe, but he spoke anyway. "I don't…I hate to ask, especially when you're already doing us a favor, but…with this last drought, and the taxes, and the baby, and…."

Gabe reached out and grasped Gerard's arm, his expression suddenly fierce. His voice was low as he said, "You don't have to beg me, brother. Not ever. You're family." Without turning his head, he said, "Alex, would you run and get me one of the small bags?"

One of the men nodded and hopped to his feet, walking away from the fire and vanishing into the back of the cave. It was almost straight out of a tale, Greta thought approvingly; the bandits really had made a lair in a cave.

Alex reappeared a minute later with a little pouch. From the way it clanked when he put it into Gabe's hand, Greta figured it was probably full of money.

Gabe handed the pouch to Gerard, still looking grave and a little savage. "Here," he said. "You need more, you come to me."

Gerard looked to Mikey, back to Gabe, and then at his feet. "I don't know how to thank you," he mumbled. "We'll pay you back, I promise."

"You just name a character in that epic poem of yours after me, huh?" said Gabe, patting Gerard's arm once more.

"The villain still doesn't have a name," said Mikey with a bored expression on his face.

Gabe laughed. "Hey, you tell Alicia if she ever gets sick of the ways of the Ways, she's welcome here any time. God only knows how she puts up with you."

"God only knows," Mikey repeated. "Come by next time you're in town."

"Will do," said Gabe with a nod. "Hey, you two, take care of yourselves."

"Likewise." Mikey nodded back at Gabe, turned, and vanished into the corridor that led outside.

Gerard gave Gabe a small smile and waved at Greta. "Thanks again," he said to Gabe, and to Greta, "If you need anything, Mikey and me are at the stand from sunup to sundown, pretty much."

Greta couldn't imagine what she'd need, and if they were so poor they had to ask for money from a bunch of thieves, she wasn't about to take anything from them, but she nodded nonetheless.

Gerard turned and disappeared after his brother, and Greta was alone in the den of thieves.

"Well," said Gabe, rubbing his hands together, "I suppose I'd better introduce our lovely guest to everyone, right? Greta, this is Ryland"—the tall man—"Alex"—the dark-haired man who'd run to fetch the money—"Nate"—the young man, who was leaning against the woman's side now—"and Victoria." _Victoria._ It suited her, thought Greta.

"Welcome," Ryland said. "We needed some fresh blood around here."

"Where's she going to sleep?" Victoria asked, looking pointedly at Gabe, as if she couldn't even see Greta.

Gabe shrugged. "Well, I thought we'd make up a bed for her in your room." Victoria narrowed her eyes at him, and he added, "Of course, we could always put her in here—it's certainly warm enough with the fire."

Greta wasn't wild about sleeping right next to the entrance. Who knew what kind of animals crept into a cave at night? Still, it was better than the alley, and this was an adventure, after all. She was actually starting to look forward to going back to the palace a bit, if only to talk about what she'd done and where she'd been. Patrick would just die when he heard about this.

"Hey," said Alex, "You hungry?"

Greta's stomach growled. It had been a while since the apple and biscuit Gerard had given her, and it hadn't been a lot of food then. Alex smiled, and scooped something out of the ashes underneath the fire. It was a little pot, which he put down in front of Greta. "Don't touch," he said. "It's hot." He dug a spoon out of his pocket and knocked the lid of the pot off with it. Suddenly a warm, spicy smell filled the cave, and Greta peered down into the pot. It looked like stew of some sort; she could make out chunks of potato and carrot and cabbage, and cooked kernels of grain. Her stomach growled again. Alex grinned and handed her the spoon. "Enjoy," he said.

She smiled back at him. "Thank you very much." She took a bite. It burned her tongue, it was so hot, but it tasted just as good as it looked. "This is delicious!" she said.

Alex beamed proudly. "I thought this batch was gonna turn out pretty well. The grain really adds something, doesn't it?"

Before she could answer, Nate had scooted around the fire to sit next to her. "Can I see the ring? Mikey said you had a ring." Greta didn't see the harm in showing it to him, so she pulled it out of her pocket, and he whistled low and long. "Good job," he said. "Rings are hard. Unless the mark isn't wearing them. Was she wearing it?"

Greta had no idea what he was talking about, though she thought it probably had something to do with stealing. "I didn't steal this," she said. "My father gave it to me."

"Fair enough," said Nate, nodding. "I wonder where he got it."

"He didn't steal it, either. He's the king."

Victoria made a rude noise from across the fire. "Sure," she said. "And I'm the Grand Duchess of Whatthefuckever." With that, she stood and stalked out of the room, vanishing into the corridor at the back. Gabe frowned, made a vague motion with his hand at the rest, and followed her.

Alex winced. "Don't mind her," he said. "Victoria's not big on having strangers here."

"Well, in all fairness, the last stranger we had here gave us over to king's justice because she was obsessed with Gabe," said Ryland. "And she wasn't even really a stranger, she was an old friend of Gabe's." He squinted at Greta and said, "Hey, you're not planning on seducing one of us and turning us in to the law if we turn you down, right?" His tone was light, but something about it made Greta wonder if he were actually serious.

"Wasn't planning on it, no," she said. "I'm going home tomorrow. I convinced this musician I met to pretend to be me for a couple of days, but I don't want anyone who actually knows what I look like to give her away, you know? We don't really look alike."

"No joke," Ryland said. "I caught a glimpse of the princess when her carriage drove past this afternoon, and I have to say, your story's really not gonna convince anyone else who saw her. Or who has eyes. Hey, I don't tell anyone else how to run their cons, but you'd have much better luck if you pawned the ring and bought some fancy clothes. A ring on its own isn't gonna prove nobility at all, much less royalty. Some nice clothes, on the other hand…."

It was his tone more than anything that irritated her; it had a sort of patronizing calmness that reminded her of her tutors. "I don't even care if you believe me," she said. "Tomorrow I'll be back in the palace, and you'll still be sitting around in this cave, and then we'll see who's the clever one."

"Oh, for God's sake," said Alex with a sigh, "let's not fight about it. You can be anyone you want to be here." He nudged Greta's knee with his own, and added, "Finish your stew."

Gabe never did reappear, and Greta wondered if he and Victoria were lovers. It would make sense, that the leader of the gang had a paramour while the rest of them didn't—the bandits in the tales always had one fair maiden, but only one, and she was always in love with the most daring and brave man in the gang. Gabe didn't seem that daring and brave, though, even if he had been kind enough to let Greta spend the night, and Greta couldn't imagine Victoria would thank him for that.

After a while, Nate started nodding off, and Alex said, "We should turn in, before one of us accidentally sets himself on fire."

"Plus, we wouldn't want to keep our guest awake," said Ryland, wiggling his eyebrows in Greta's direction. "I'm sure she's had a long day."

Greta wasn't planning on dignifying that with an angry response; instead, she just tipped her head back the way she did when she was trying to scare off a particularly boring suitor, and said, "Good night."

"G'night," said Nate, and Alex reached into the corner to toss Greta a blanket before the three of them went down the mysterious back corridor. Greta wondered what was back there, and whether they'd let her see it. If it was where their secret plans were made and their loot was stored, probably not. Maybe they kept the skulls of their enemies back there, like trophies. Maybe the cave had a secret, underground cavern, with a lake and a boat where they could ship their booty out.

The sand on the floor of the room was warm, and the smoldering coals from the fire cast a little orange light, so Greta curled into the blanket and thought about thieves and rings and cheese biscuits until she stopped thinking altogether.

When she opened her eyes again, it took her a long minute to remember where she was. The cave was still dark, but a few shafts of light were visible from the path to the entrance, so she figured it had to be morning. It was the first night she'd ever spent in her life away from the protection of Patrick and Bob and the guards and a castle, so she had to stretch her stiff arms and revel in the sensation of being a free woman. She was in a cave with bandits, and sure, she'd have to go back sometime, but until then, _anything_ could happen. She laughed.

"What's so funny?"

Greta's breath caught in her throat. In the shadows in the corner, Victoria was sitting, watching her. "I didn't see you there," she said.

Victoria didn't answer. The cave was so dim, Greta could barely make out her features, and her hair blended into the dark shadows.

Greta suddenly felt gross and dirty and awkward, unwashed and still dressed in Amanda's old, frayed clothing. She scrubbed a hand over her face and asked, "Where are the others?"

"They're working," said Victoria. "You were sleeping when they left. I usually go with them, but I didn't want to leave you alone."

Greta was surprised at how pleased she was by this unexpected show of kindness. "Thank you," she said.

Victoria drew her lips together so tightly that even in the dark, Greta could see the skin around them go white. When she opened her mouth again, she said, "It wasn't for your sake. I didn't want to leave a stranger alone in our home. For all I know, you could just be waiting for an opportunity to tell the city guard about this place, or rob us."

"Oh." Greta'd never had someone think this badly of her before, and she found she really didn't like it. "That's a fine thing for a _thief_ to say," she said finally.

Victoria's expression darkened. "Like you're any better. If you're going to eat our food and sleep in our home, don't insult us." She picked something up from the floor near her feet and walked over to Greta. When she got closer, Greta could see a plate with what looked like eggs and potatoes and slices of apple on it. "We saved some breakfast for you," she said, sounding grudging about it.

Greta took it without thanking her—if Victoria was going to be rude, Greta could be rude right back. Her anger melted, though, at the first bite, and every bite after that improved her mood. The eggs were light and fluffy, the potatoes tender and full of flavor, and even the apple was crisp and tasted like summer to her. "This is delicious," she said. "Did Alex make it?"

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Victoria's mouth, and she said, "Yeah. He's a pretty good cook, isn't he?"

Greta nodded. He was. "Thanks for the food," she said. She finished the rest in silence, and then wondered aloud, "So, am I your prisoner now or something?"

Victoria, who'd produced a bucket from her corner and was sipping from a battered tin ladle, spit out a mouthful of water. "What? Why on earth would you think that?"

"Well," Greta said, feeling a bit sheepish, "that's how it always happens in the tales. A maiden in need seeks aid from the bandits, and they help her, but they take her prisoner, because they need someone to, to wash their dishes or darn their socks or something."

Victoria's jaw dropped; she looked like she didn't know whether to burst out laughing or slap Greta across the face. Her face was turning a dark red, and Greta wondered whether she'd have to defend herself with the plate. "Alex said you were sick in the head," Victoria said finally. "Ryland and I thought you were probably running a con, and Nate didn't know what to think, and God only knows what Gabe thinks, but Alex said you had to be crazy, or confused." She shook her head. "I hate it when he's right."

"He's not right," said Greta, but she didn't feel like fighting about it anymore. "I just…I don't get out much."

"Hmm." Victoria scratched at her chin thoughtfully, and said, "I can understand that." She peered searchingly at Greta, as if she were trying to see through her, and Greta did her best to return the favor. Victoria was a complete mystery to her, other than her totally unfounded dislike for Greta; maybe if Victoria saw whatever it was she wanted to see, she'd be willing to open up a bit more.

After a moment, though, her face closed off again, and she stood up. "Well. You're not our prisoner. You can leave anytime you want. In fact, weren't you supposed to be going home today?" she asked. "Something about a palace, I believe you said."

Greta couldn't hide her disappointment. "Well, yes, but not yet! I haven't even seen the rest of your lair, yet!" How on earth could she go home and tell people she'd stayed in a bandits' cave and only ever seen the front room of it?

"Our lair?" asked Victoria, her tone somewhere between scornful and skeptical. "Does everything you know come from fairy tales?"

Not everything she knew, of course, but a lot of the things she dreamed about. Greta kept quiet.

Victoria rolled her eyes. "No wonder you go around telling people you're a princess. For fuck's sake, life isn't a fairy tale, you know?" She looked down her nose at Greta, and Greta thought she wouldn't be a bad princess herself, just a snotty one. "If you're going to be hanging around," she said, "you might as well make yourself useful." She handed Greta the bucket. "You refill the water vat, I'll collect firewood." She gestured towards a big, bulky shape in the corner where she'd been sitting.

Greta had never filled a water vat in her life. She supposed it couldn't be too difficult, but…. "Where do you get the water?"

"From the spring," said Victoria, looking as if she couldn't even believe how stupid Greta was. "About a hundred yards to the west." Greta felt her cheeks go hot.

"You don't have to look at me like I'm stupid," she said. "I've never been here before. For all I knew, you had a—a subterranean reservoir, or a well, or something."

Victoria's expression softened, but all she said was, "We don't," as she handed Greta the bucket. She walked to the front of the room, down the passage to the outside, and pushed aside the rock at the entrance, all without sparing Greta another glance. Greta tried not to feel anything at all about it; it was easier than she'd thought it might be, since she couldn't decide how she felt.

The sun hurt her eyes as she stepped out of the cave, but not for long, and soon she had a good view of where she was. The city walls were visible, but just barely, and then only because a few of the trees had shriveled, dry leaves. The woods on every side of the cave were dense, with thick undergrowth, and even the air seemed heavy and full of noises and smells.

She walked west, listening for the sounds of a spring. There was a visible path through the woods, even if it was only a narrow little line of down-trodden dirt, and she followed it. The spring itself wasn't really worthy of the name; it was more of a dried-out trickle, covering the rocks with mud. At a couple of places, though, it widened into a shallow pool, and she did her best to fill the bucket. It was hard, since the spring was so shallow, and she had to top it off by scooping out water with her hands. Despite the shade and the earliness of the morning, it was already wretchedly hot.

The bucket was a lot heavier on the walk back to the cave, and it went a lot slower. There was something rather satisfying about it, though, like she was actually doing something substantial, so Greta managed to keep up her spirits, despite the heat. Well, until she poured her bucket into the vat and realized that it wasn't even a tenth of the way full. "Oh, God," she groaned aloud. "Why couldn't they have a subterranean reservoir?" Still, the thieves had been rather kind to her, and as they didn't believe she was the princess, only the goodness of their own hearts could have obliged them to help her like they had. It was only right that she pay them back. And besides, she didn't want Victoria to look at her with scorn again.

So she trudged back out to the stream to fill the bucket again. And again. And again. She splashed herself with the water, which was miraculously cold, every time she made it back to the spring, but she still felt herself growing shaky. Her muscles were still stiff and sore from all the walking she'd done the day before, and Amanda's shoes really weren't as comfortable as they had seemed yesterday afternoon.

Suddenly, she felt an urgent need to sit down, so she did, right in the middle of the path, and set her bucket down next to her. She didn't feel any better, though; now her head was swimming and she wanted to puke. She thought for a moment of Bob and his motion sickness and laughed, sounding hysterical even to her own ears.

"What are you laughing at now?"

Greta would have lifted her head to look at Victoria, but instead, she thought lying down might be the best course of action, so she did. She could still see Victoria out of the corner of her eye, striding down the path with an armful of sticks and an irritated expression on her face.

"Oh, nothing," said Greta. "Just, puking's funny, isn't it?"

The irritation on Victoria's face changed abruptly to concern, and wouldn't that be funny, Victoria being worried about Greta? Ironic was the word, maybe. Greta was having a hard time keeping thoughts together. She couldn't figure out why Victoria would drop her pile of sticks and run over to Greta and her empty bucket, but she did. "Are you all right?" she asked, crouching down by Greta's side. "Did you throw up?"

Greta waved a feeble hand in the air. "No. Just, I feel kind of like when you're in a carriage and you have to throw up, you know? Everything's moving around too much." She laughed again. It all seemed terribly strange.

"Oh, damn it," said Victoria. "You're heat-sick. God, I knew I shouldn't have let you fill the vat by yourself." She stroked a hand over Greta's forehead, and Greta suddenly felt dirty again. She was getting her sweat all over Victoria's hands, which were callused but still soft.

Then the hand was gone, and Victoria was picking up the bucket and walking away. "Wait," said Greta feebly. "Don't…don't leave me."

"I'll be back in half a minute," said Victoria, giving Greta a comforting smile. "I'm just going to get some water, all right?"

"Oh." Water did sound rather nice right now, even if carrying it was such an ordeal. "All right."

"All right, then." Victoria dashed off, and true to her word, returned a minute or two later with a bucket mostly full of clear water. She knelt again by Greta and said, "Here, put your hand in to get some and drink. Slowly."

Greta did her best, but her hand was shaky, and she spilled the water all down her front. Victoria rolled her eyes. Scooping up a handful of water, she reached with her other hand to lift up Greta's head and put the water to her lips. "Drink," she said.

The water was maybe the best thing Greta had ever tasted, and after three large gulps from Victoria's hand, her head felt clear enough that she could sit up and scoop some water out for herself.

"Just sit for a while," said Victoria. "It's the damned heat. What were you thinking, anyway? You're supposed to drink plenty of water in this kind of weather, and you could have just drunk from the stream every time you filled the bucket."

Greta got the distinct impression she was being scolded, but she was too tired to argue. "Sorry," she said. "I never…well, I never went outside to ride or anything when it was this hot before, and I never carried water in buckets like this, and I didn't know."

"Hmm," said Victoria, as if she didn't know whether she believed her or not. She put her hand to Greta's forehead again, stroking sweaty strands of hair to the side almost absent-mindedly. It felt good. "Well. You're supposed to sit, or even better, lie down, but it's so hot here. Do you think you can make it back to the cave?"

Greta was fantastically uninterested in standing up, but then, it was cool and dark inside the cave, and there was all that water she'd dumped into the vat. "I think so," she said.

"Well, come on, then," said Victoria, and to Greta's surprise, she stood and put her hands on Greta's sides, under her arms, pulling her up.

Once Greta had managed to stand, Victoria helped her walk back to the cave. It was short, but it felt terribly long, and she was so exhausted by the time they got back that she felt the need to lie down again.

Victoria filled the bucket and set it next to her, sitting down. For a long while they were silent, Greta staring at the ceiling, concentrating on breathing, and working up the strength to take a sip of water every now and then, Victoria looking troubled and staring into the dark at the back of the cave. Finally, Victoria broke the silence, saying, "I should have told you. I mean, made sure you knew to take a drink every now and then."

The longer Greta lay there, the stupider she felt, so she said, "No. It's my fault. I just didn't think of it, but that was stupid—of course you have to drink more when it's hot." She sighed. "I'm not used to doing, you know, useful things. Things that involve carrying stuff and being out in the hot sun."

Victoria snorted. "You really did have a sheltered childhood, princess," she said, but she didn't sound mean about it. After a pause, she added, "You did an all right job filling that vat, though."

Greta smiled without even meaning to. "Thanks."

"Hey," said Victoria, "When you're feeling a little better, maybe I could show you around the place. It's not much, you know, but it's home."

"I'm feeling better now," Greta said, sitting up, and Victoria laughed.

"Well, all right then!" She stood and grabbed Greta's hand, pulling her up, too. "It's this way," she said, and she led Greta towards the corridor at the back of the room.

It wasn't very long, but there seemed to be five separate little chambers leading off of it, two on each side and one on the end, each one mostly blocked off with a kind of rounded wooden door fastened to the stone with screws and hinges. The first room on the left, Victoria explained, was Nate's; Alex and Ryland shared the one next to it, as they'd been friends since childhood. The room on the end was the storeroom; Victoria only opened the door for a moment and gestured inside, but Greta could make out a variety of bags. Some of them seemed to hold foodstuffs, like flour or grain, but a lot of them seemed like the kind of bags Gabe had given Gerard the previous night—loot. The first room on the right was Gabe's, and the one next to it Victoria's. Greta was oddly relieved to hear that Gabe and Victoria didn't share a room.

Victoria pushed open the door to the back right chamber, and said, "Hey, you want to see my room?" Greta wasn't about to turn down an offer like that, so she followed Victoria inside. It was almost totally dark, but Victoria grabbed a torch from a wall sconce in the corridor and used it to light a similar wall-mounted lamp inside the room. It was small, with the same kind of dry sand floor as the rest of the rooms, but it held a little bed with a quilt on it, a rug braided from fabric scraps, and a little chest of drawers. "Your clothes are filthy," Victoria said, and she rummaged around in one of the drawers until she found a plain but decent pink gingham dress. "Here," she said, handing it to Greta, "it's too small for me. Let's see if it fits you."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Greta said. Her wardrobes at home were filled with a thousand dresses nicer than this one.

Still, something made her close her hand around the fabric Victoria was holding out to her, and Victoria smiled. "I'll turn around," she said, and she did.

Greta awkwardly pulled Amanda's dress over her head. For a moment, she was naked except for the stockings, feeling vulnerable and chilly, and she pulled the pink gingham over her head as quickly as she could. It was longer than Amanda's dress, and a bit tight in the shoulders and bust, but it mostly fit her all right. It looked funny with the stockings, though, so she pulled them off. She took the signet ring out of the pocket of Amanda's dress and put it in the pocket of this dress, folding up the other one so it didn't lie wrinkled on Victoria's floor. "Okay," she said, "You can turn around, now."

Victoria did, slowly, and whatever she saw made her smile, a little wistfully. "You look pretty," she said. "I mean, it looks pretty on you. You can keep it, if you'd like."

"Thanks," said Greta, meaning it as sincerely as she'd ever meant anything. They stood there for a moment like that, awkward and smiling, before the sound of raucous voices came from the front room.

Greta froze. "Is it intruders?"

"No," said Victoria, her word sounding like a laugh. "The boys are back."

Sure enough, when Greta listened closer, she could make out the sounds of Nate grumbling, of Alex and Ryland teasing him about something, and of Gabe announcing something indignantly. They all stopped talking when Greta and Victoria came back into the room, looking at them curiously.

"Well, hello," said Ryland. "I see our guest is still here." He quickly looked Greta up and down and said, "Nice dress."

"Hers was getting disgusting," Victoria said by way of explanation. "What are you all doing home so early? It can't be past noon yet!"

Gabe sighed exaggeratedly and produced a small bag, presumably full of money. "I declare, the guards are making it impossible to work in the city! They were just _everywhere_ today, and we could scarcely sit down to play before one of the bastards would poke his head around a corner and we'd have to scatter. Obviously, we made them pay for the trouble, but still! I resent their interference in the betterment of my skills."

"Wait, what?" Greta frowned, confused. "What do you play?"

"Music, Princess Greta!" Gabe bowed with dramatic flourish. "Even in these terrible times—hell, _especially_ in these terrible times—I firmly believe the people need a little old-fashioned dance music."

As she looked around, she suddenly realized that, except for Gabe and Victoria, everyone was carrying an instrument; Nate had a drum, Ryland was carrying a small harp, and Alex had a lute slung over his shoulder. "I play the accordion, and Gabe sings," said Victoria, and Greta realized that she must have been fairly obvious about her investigation.

"Wait, why would the guards bother you if you weren't stealing anything?" Greta asked. "Do they know all your faces or something?"

"I should hope not!" Gabe said with an air of wounded pride.

Nate, though, looked at Greta as if she'd completely lost her mind. "Um, because busking's illegal?"

Now Greta was completely confused. "That can't be right! Busking doesn't hurt anyone, and besides, I was singing with a drummer and a lute player just yesterday, and nobody bothered us."

Alex shook his head and said, "You were damn lucky you didn't all get arrested." He walked over to sit by the fire and shake the rocks out of his boots, and as he did, Greta noticed for the first time that the first two fingers of his right hand were missing.

"What happened to your hand?" she asked.

For a long moment, it seemed as if everyone _but_ Alex had heard her, since they were all giving her looks ranging from shocked to scowling. Then Alex looked up from his left boot and said, "Who, me?"

Greta nodded, and Alex shrugged. "Well, a couple years back—during the last dry spell, you know--" Greta didn't know, but she wasn't about to interrupt, so she nodded again. "Food was a bit scarce, and I thought I'd try my hand at hunting." He smiled wryly and continued, "Of course, that's illegal, too, if you don't have the right permit, which of course I couldn't afford. One of the king's rangers caught me, and…." He shrugged again.

"That's terrible!" Greta exclaimed. She had never particularly liked her father, but she couldn't believe even he could be so downright rotten as to make playing music illegal, or to lop off people's fingers for hunting when they needed food.

"That's life," said Alex, and Ryland made a noise of agreement and sat down next to him.

"And we definitely got back at them," Ryland said. "Rangers have no idea how to hold onto their money in the city." He and Alex exchanged wicked grins.

"Stealing's not good, either," said Greta, but she didn't think she could hold that particular theft against them, particularly given the gang's kindness to her. Surely there was some method of applying to the king for grievances, but she didn't know it, and it seemed reasonable that they didn't know it, either.

"Believe you me, princess," Gabe said with a grin, "we've never stolen from anyone who couldn't spare it."

"I probably have," mumbled Victoria, and Gabe's expression darkened.

"Allow me to rephrase. We've never stolen from anyone who couldn't spare it or didn't deserve it." He walked over to where Victoria was standing to drape an arm around her shoulders and whisper something in her ear, and Greta found herself burning with curiosity. She couldn't ask why Victoria was so upset now, though, not when she'd already managed to kill the jovial mood with her stupid questions and made Victoria look like she might start crying.

Clearly, they were the sort of thieves who stole from the rich and gave to the poor—she should have been able to guess that by the fact that they'd given Gerard and Mikey money last night, and the fact that all their loot was divided up into little bags, the better for distributing. Greta wondered if there were a lot of poor people for them to help, and if so, why her father was wasting time going after street musicians when he could have been helping them help the poor.

"Guess I'd better start on lunch, then," said Alex, giving Gabe and Victoria a vaguely concerned look. "There's no point in us going out again today, right?" Gabe nodded, and Alex said, "Right. Ryland, you can help me cut vegetables. I've got an idea for a sort of barley pilaf. It's gonna be great."

"Yum," Ryland said, hopping to his feet and dashing back to the storeroom.

Nate sidled over to where Greta was standing and said, a little hesitant, "You said you sing?"

"A little," Greta said.

"Maybe while they're cooking, we could play something. We didn't get to do much of anything this morning." Nate looked at his feet and added, "I hate it when the guards are all over the place. Sometimes, you just want to play some music."

Relieved to have the means of breaking the awkward silence so kindly laid out for her, she said, "I'd be happy to sing with you, Nate! Maybe…." She turned to address Victoria, determined to meet her eyes. "Would you like to get your accordion, too?"

Victoria huffed out a little laugh and said, "Sure." She vanished and reappeared a moment later, an accordion in her hands and Ryland on her heels.

"No fair," said Ryland with a bit of a pout. "You waited to play after I got roped into cutting vegetables? No fair at all!"

"Oh, stop whining," Alex said from the middle of the room, where he was rebuilding the fire. "It'll only take a few minutes."

And so Gabe and Greta sang as Nate beat out a rhythm and Victoria squeezed a harmony out of the accordion, while Alex and Ryland put together the pilaf and occasionally sang along. The bandits knew a lot of dance tunes and drinking songs, far more than Greta did, but the tunes were easy enough to learn, and Gabe was always willing to stop for a minute and teach Greta the words. Gabe was a real showman, which came as no surprise to Greta, even with the lack of an audience, but she was a little surprised to see how passionately involved Nate and Victoria got, as well. She didn't think she'd ever seen Victoria so relaxed, grinning broadly at everyone and laughing when they flubbed a song. After lunch, Alex and Ryland joined in with their lute and harp, and the whole thing was so wonderful and wild that Greta couldn't help but ask, "Why is busking illegal? Surely you could make a lot of money playing for people like this. "

"Why do fish swim? Why is the sky blue? Why do Ryland's feet smell so bad?" Gabe shrugged elaborately, dodging a blow from Ryland. "It's just the way things are."

"I think it has to do with keeping the people under control," offered Alex. "After the riots, and all."

"What riots?"

Gabe laughed. "What riots? Good God, Princess, you really aren't up-to-date in your current events, are you?" Before Greta had the time to get offended, he continued, "A few years ago, when the king built the palace here, he raised the taxes hugely."

"Ridiculously hugely," threw in Ryland.

Gabe nodded sagely. "Ridiculously hugely, for building materials and the like. Building a castle's expensive, I guess. Seeing as how we were already going through a drought and--well, might as well call it what it was—a bit of a famine, the people weren't terribly interested in handing over three-quarters of their income to build a new palace right where the main market place used to be. So, we had what you might call a riot. Torches, shouting, throwing rotten fruit, the whole thing. The king wasn't pleased about it, and ever since, he's been unfortunately preoccupied in making sure it doesn't happen again by making the people too tired and scared and worn-down to do anything. Hence the curfews and the guards and the bans on anything even remotely fun."

"Oh." Greta was too appalled to say anything else. No one had ever told her. Things had never seemed so bad at the palace at Magnolia, but then, practically nobody lived in Magnolia except for people working at the palace, and clearly, none of them cared to give her the truth about anything.

"Why are we talking politics?" asked Nate with a frown.

They kept playing for an hour or two before Nate and Gabe left for what they called "the distribution part of the operation," only confirming Greta's idea that they helped others with the proceeds of their theft.

After they left, Alex stretched out on the ground and gave Ryland a satisfied smile. Ryland sighed. "Whatever," he said. "Alex cooked, so I guess I'm cleaning. You guys want to look after the garden?"

"Of course," said Victoria. "Let me just go get Greta a hat. I don't want her to get heat-sick again." She ran back to her room.

Greta wasn't sure what to do, now that she wasn't expected to sing anymore, so she just sat. Alex gave her a curious look from his position on the ground. "What?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing," he said. "Just. Be careful with Victoria, all right? We do our best to make sure she doesn't get hurt."

Greta frowned. She didn't know what he meant, unless he meant they were still all afraid of Greta handing them all over to officers of the law. "I wouldn't hurt her," she said.

"Okay." Alex nodded calmly. "Good." Ryland looked a little more skeptical, but he nodded, too.

Victoria reappeared a second later with a large straw hat, which she placed unceremoniously on Greta's head. Greta giggled—the hat felt huge—and Victoria smiled back. "We'll make sure to have plenty of water, this time," she said. "We need to bring some anyway, to water the plants."

The three of them, Victoria and Greta and Ryland, went down to the stream, Victoria carrying the bucket and Ryland carrying the big pot Alex had used for cooking. In the heat of the day, the little trickle seemed even smaller and drier, but Greta and Victoria managed to fill the bucket, and they left Ryland to do his best to scrub out the huge pot in the tiny stream.

On the east side of the cave, shaded by a makeshift roof of sticks and grass, there was a little vegetable patch. The soil looked unbearably appealing to Greta's sore feet, and she kicked off Amanda's shoes and dug her toes into the ground. It was warm and crumbly and soft, and she sighed happily. "I love summer," she said.

Victoria harrumphed and said, "I think we could do with a little less of it," but she kicked off her shoes, too.

They weeded the cabbages and carrots in silence for a while. Though usually Greta didn't care if she got her clothes dirty, she found herself trying to avoid soiling the skirt of Victoria's dress, so before long her knees were so grimy that the dirt seemed engrained in the wrinkles of her skin. She could feel the sun burning the tops of her cheeks and the tip of her nose, and she looked at Victoria's freckles with a funny kind of yearning. It wasn't that she wanted freckles so much as…well, what she wanted didn't seem to make much sense, actually, so she distracted herself by asking, "How did all of you meet?"

"Why do you want to know?" asked Victoria, but she didn't seem angry or suspicious, just curious.

Greta shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "I mean, clearly you all know each other well, and Gabe's friends with Gerard and Mikey, and you said Alex and Ryland have been friends forever, so I just wondered how the five of you came to be…you know. Living out here together." She wanted to say, "Stealing," but she didn't want to upset Victoria again.

"Hmm." Victoria threw another weed onto the pile and brushed some dirt off her hands. "Well. Gabe's not from Ramenia, he's from Midtown. That's where he knew the Ways—apparently they were friends as children, or something, and I think he and Mikey were…." She gave Greta a sharp, searching look, and continued, "I think they were more than friends for a time."

"What do you mean?" asked Greta.

"Surely you know that two people don't have to be married to do what married people do," Victoria said, softly, as if she were trying to say something without ever actually saying it.

"They were lovers, do you mean?" Greta frowned. She had heard of such people, men who slept with other men and women who slept with other women, but they didn't make it into most of the tales about thieves and smugglers that she'd read. Something curious stirred in her stomach.

"You could say that," said Victoria. "I think it was more that they were very close friends who happened to sleep together sometimes." Her hands stilled in her lap for a moment, and then she reached into the earth to pull out another weed, tugging back and forth until its roots gave in. "At any rate, Mikey met Alicia and married her, and Gabe formed a gang out in Midtown. Only, the king's guards caught onto them, and they were forced to scatter to different towns."

"And Gabe came to Ramenia."

Victoria nodded. "Now, Alex and Ryland are from Ivy—do you know it?" When Greta shook her head, she said, "It's a village about three miles outside Ramenia. Lovely place, but the soil's not very good, and it always seems to fail with every drought. After, you know, what Alex told you about, they left to come to the city." A worm poked its head up out of a clump of dark soil and thready white roots, and Victoria dug around it and put it in the next row, which they'd finished weeding. "Nate was an apprentice to a glass smith," she continued, "But the smith wasn't very kind to him, so he ran away. He met up with Gabe, who gave him a place to stay. Gabe was looking to put together a new gang, so he recruited Nate, and the two of them met Alex and Ryland, who were looking for work." Her tone indicated that that was the end of the story.

But it wasn't, of course. "What about you?" Greta asked.

Victoria bit her lip and looked carefully at Greta. Instead of answering, she said, "Why do you go around saying you're the princess? You know it makes you sound crazy, or just obnoxious."

Greta thought of explaining for the millionth time that she was the princess, that she was only telling the truth. But being the princess didn't seem like something to be proud of, anymore, and she didn't want Victoria to be angry with her again. "If I'm the princess," she said, "this is all an adventure. It's not that people are actually hungry, or bad things are actually happening. It's like I'm in a fairy tale."

"Yeah," Victoria said quietly. She turned her attention back to the soil. "Me, I was born in Ramenia," she said. "I lived with a man who wasn't my father, but he took care of me. Sort of. I did…jobs…for him, for his customers, rather, and then he taught me to steal from the customers. So you see, I have a lot of experience picking pockets." She smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. Greta thought of the frightening innkeeper who had offered her a room for free, and didn't ask what Victoria meant by 'jobs.' "Anyway," she continued, "one of the customers figured out who had stolen his money, and he raised quite a fuss. Gabe heard the commotion, and he asked me if I wanted a change. I did." Victoria paused again, staring into the soil as if she were remembering something, and by the look on her face, whatever she was remembering wasn't very pleasant.

"What happened with the last stranger?" Greta asked, trying to change the subject.

"Hmm?"

"Last night. Ryland said that the last stranger to stay with you was a friend of Gabe's, and she turned you over to the king's justice, or something."

"Oh, Elisa," said Victoria with a dismissive wave of her hand, but her expression was still sad. "She and Gabe knew each other from somewhere, and she was part of the gang for a while. She and I…." Victoria shrugged. "I thought she loved me, she thought she loved Gabe, same old story. Of course, after a while, having her love you was about the same as having her hate you. She called the guards on us one day while we were in town, and Nate and Alex had to get the rest of us out of jail." She laughed. "That was an adventure, let me tell you. And when we got back home, Elisa was gone, and that was that."

"She sounds horrible," said Greta firmly, unable to think of another time she'd disliked someone she'd never met so fiercely.

"Hmm," said Victoria, "well, I really liked her, once, but it's hard for me to trust people, now, even people I like." She closed her eyes. "Maybe especially people I like. I don't think I have very good taste."

Greta's chest was a muddle of tangled emotions. She didn't know whether she wanted Victoria to trust her or not—if she didn't, it meant she liked Greta, but if she did, it would be like being the champion of a quest, overcoming Victoria's distrust. And why did it matter so much if Victoria liked her? Sure, Victoria was beautiful, and clever, and played the accordion like it was the most fun thing in the world. But Greta was the _princess_; surely her heart was reserved for a prince. It had to be.

"I'm sure you have wonderful taste," Greta murmured, and the two of them fell silent again, pulling and piling up the weeds. This silence felt different, though; before, the tension had all been in Greta's mind, just silliness, but now it felt palpable, as thick as the humid air separating them from each other.

Gabe and Nate returned around sunset, with cheese biscuits and sticky sweet buns from the Ways' stand. It was amazing how much difference a day made, Greta thought as she looked around the fire. Only last night, supper had been awkward and she had been a stranger; tonight, she was practically one of them. The only reminder that Greta _wasn't_ just another member of their gang came when Ryland asked, "Hey, Greta, weren't you going back to the palace today?"

At this point, Greta would have happily avoided seeing her father again for the rest of her life, and she wasn't any too pleased with Bob or Patrick, either, for somehow neglecting to mention that her father was apparently squeezing the people of Ramenia, and maybe the whole kingdom, dry. "Eh, maybe tomorrow," she said, "if you don't mind putting me up another night." The smiles around the fire indicated that it wouldn't be a problem.

They played and sang a little after supper, and Victoria said, "Greta, if you want to sleep in my room tonight, I have some extra blankets. We can make up a bed." Greta didn't need to be asked twice. The sand in the entrance room was warmer, perhaps, but she slept as soundly on the floor by Victoria's bed as she'd ever slept in her life.

The next day, the gang decided that with Greta's singing ability, they could take her out with them to help with their work. It was a little strange, she thought, the idea of a princess willingly helping a gang of thieves, but she was curious to see just how it was they operated, and who it was they robbed, since they said they never stole from anyone who could spare it.

At first, she thought, it just seemed like busking with Chris and Darren that first day. She sang while Victoria and Alex played along and Ryland, Gabe, and Nate waited out in the crowd. She watched them closely, only turning her head occasionally to smile when a passerby dropped a coin in Victoria's straw hat, but she couldn't see them actually doing anything—they just looked like three more young men in the crowd, enjoying the show.

But then—then she saw Lord Ryan, from the duchy of Ross, and his manservant Brendon. Lord Ryan was nice enough, a very poetic and creative sort of fellow, and he must have been very rich from the way her father was always seating her next to him at banquets, but she'd always thought living with him would drive her insane, so she'd never encouraged the match. They knew each other well enough, though, that she feared Lord Ryan would recognize her, so she ducked her head, trying to hide behind her hair.

"Hey," Victoria muttered out of the corner of her mouth, "Look. Gabe's got his mark." Greta peeked through her hair.

As Lord Ryan paused, smiling and tapping his feet to the music, Gabe sauntered through the crowd, looking as if he wanted a better view of the performance. Almost carelessly, as if he wasn't quite watching where he was going, he brushed against Lord Ryan's side.

"Oh, pardon me, milord," he said, bowing with an exaggerated expression of apology.

Lord Ryan shrugged. "I'm all right." Brendon frowned at Gabe, but he didn't say anything, and Gabe vanished into the crowd again, as if too embarrassed to stand next to Lord Ryan anymore.

"Was that it?" Greta whispered, and Alex laughed.

"Just keep playing," he said, plucking out the beginnings of a new song.

They only got two more "marks" before a tall, dark-skinned man whistled from a tavern on the corner, saying, "Hey, three guards, two blocks south."

"Hey, thanks, Travis," said Victoria, and she and Alex stood. Greta followed suit, excited but not a little frightened. "Now what?" she whispered. "Do we run?"

"Nope," said Victoria, smiling and waving to the dispersing crowd of people. Greta could see Gabe and Nate and Ryland vanishing down the side streets. "We go around them, to the back door."

They gathered up the coins they'd earned and walked quickly, but not too quickly, a few blocks north, until they hit the outer wall of the city. Then they turned and walked south again, walking along a path Greta recognized from two nights ago, when Gerard and Mikey had shown her the secret path out of the city. They ducked out the back way, the same door they'd used to go in, and found the path that led back to the cave. The other three were already there.

It was far past noon, now, probably three or four, judging by the sun, but…. "We only got three purses," said Greta. "Is that bad?"

Ryland laughed and said, "Hell, a day when we get anything at all is a good day in my book."

Victoria nodded. "Times are hard for everyone, even nobles, I guess. We don't see as many of them out and shopping as we used to."

They spent the rest of the day splashing their hot and tired limbs in the stream, getting the sweat out of their clothes and the sand out of their shoes. Nate and Gabe took off their shirts, revealing a badly scarred back and a brand on one arm that said "IDLER," respectively, but neither of them seemed upset about it, so Greta didn't comment, not wanting to spoil the fun of laughing together in the sun with her new friends.

Dinner that night was small, soup and a crusty bread that they found in the storeroom, and everyone was tired and pleased enough to go to bed shortly after nightfall. Everyone except Greta.

"I can't believe I—oh, I didn't know anything about anything, I probably would have been caught in a minute if had just been me, but still, those guards were after us, and we _escaped!_" She felt giddy with the triumph of it, and she smiled hugely at Victoria.

In the dim light of the wall torch in Victoria's room, Victoria's answering smile seemed all teeth, almost dark and secret even in its gentleness. "You were good," she said. "Nate freaked out his first time—we would have understood if you had, but you kept it together pretty well."

"Ohhh." Greta thought her heart would burst with the pleasure of Victoria's praise. "This is the most fun I've ever had in my life," she said honestly. "With the music, and the daring escapes, and the food, and everything. I'm so glad—I'm so glad I did this."

"Did what?" Victoria asked wryly. "Went out thieving with us?"

"No!" It was hard to explain in a way Victoria would understand; their lives had been so different. "Struck out on my own," she said finally. "Went out to learn what the world is really like. If I hadn't, I never would have met you."

"Well," said Victoria, "that would have been sad, I think. I know I wasn't very kind to you that first night, but…I'm glad you're here. You fit. With us, I mean." She reached a quick hand out, running the backs of her knuckles against Greta's cheek, and then pulled away again as if embarrassed. "We ought to go to bed," she said. "We don't want to be the last ones up in the morning." She turned away.

But something bright and exciting and new was burning in Greta's heart, now, and she couldn't let it go now, not after feeling the strange rough softness of Victoria's fingers on her face. "Victoria," she said, a tremor of thrill running through her voice, and Victoria turned back.

She reached out, stroking Victoria's cheek in turn. The skin was soft and ever-so-lightly fuzzy, like a peach, and she leaned in on her tiptoes for a kiss, half expecting Victoria to taste of peaches.

She didn't—she tasted vaguely like the soup they'd eaten for dinner, but mostly just like spit, and like the inside of Greta's own mouth tasted. But that was good, too, better than good, and she let her other hand reach out to stroke the shiny brown tendrils of Victoria's hair while she deepened the kiss. _My first kiss_, she thought giddily. _True love's first kiss._ That was nonsense, of course, but she wasn't about to tamp down on her heart now.

Victoria pulled away, but not far, resting her forehead against Greta's. "I didn't think you wanted this," she murmured, her mouth inches away. "Good girl like you."

"Not so good," Greta whispered, yearning to be kissing her again. Instead, because she knew there was more to this business, even if she'd only ever read about it, she reached out for Victoria's hand and put it on her own breast.

"Oh," breathed Victoria, moving her hand over Greta's breast so lightly it scarcely felt like anything at all. "You want that? You want me?"

There was a slight, shaky emphasis on _me_, like Greta didn't know who it was she was doing this with. She knew, and she felt the foolishness of it in her mind, but the rightness of it was stronger and everywhere and she said, "Yes, of course I do. I want you."

Taking off their clothes was probably only the work of a moment, but it seemed to drag on forever, and Greta felt like she had a million limbs, and none of them were any good at pulling the pink dress over her head. She could hear Victoria laugh softly, say, "Hey, hey, let me help you with that," and then Victoria's hands were pulling off the dress, carefully unlacing Greta's undershirt, and Greta could see every beautiful inch of her.

They somehow made it onto Victoria's bed, and it was a miracle they didn't dash their heads against the walls, thought Greta, because heaven knew she was too preoccupied with learning the contours of Victoria's body to pay much attention to how close her own head was from the stone wall of the cave. Victoria's skin was smooth, except where it wasn't, where old raised scars or short stiff hairs met her fingertips, and she liked all of it.

Victoria must have liked what she saw, too, because she smiled, warm and soft, at Greta and said, "God, you're so beautiful," and kissed Greta's breasts one by one, and then again, further down, making a line of kisses down her stomach. Greta'd been called beautiful before, by Patrick and Bob, by her suitors, even once by her father, but the words had never sunk into her heart like this and dug in, like they'd stay there forever.

"Do you want my fingers?" asked Victoria, and Greta couldn't quite wrap her head around what Victoria meant, but anything she was offering, Greta wanted, so she nodded. Victoria sucked a finger into her mouth, like she'd hurt it, but then took it out again, and she rubbed it against Greta in the place between her legs that had always felt good before, but never as good as this.

"Yeah?" she said, and Greta nodded. And then there was—it was a pain, sort of, but a very _strange_ pain, and she found she didn't mind it, and after a while, it stopped being pain enough that she could feel Victoria's finger _in_ her, and then it was good, not pain at all. She had to kiss Victoria then, she had to, and she searched with her mouth for Victoria's, constantly distracted by her collarbone and the underside of her jaw and the place on her upper cheeks where her eyelashes fluttered, long and dark.

And then there was more than one finger, and they were moving in and out, and Victoria's thumb was still rubbing, and it was so strange and good and new that she couldn't think about it anymore, she couldn't take it, and then _something_ made white lights flash behind Greta's eyes, and her body flooded with warmth, and she couldn't stop from sighing, or maybe crying out, because her voice no longer felt like a part of her at all.

"Oh, Greta," Victoria said, kissing her, covering her mouth with warm wetness, "Oh."

"Was that coming?" asked Greta, feeling as if she'd woken up from a very strange dream. "I've heard about it, and I thought…but that was different than it was before, with myself." She wasn't sure she was even making sense, but she hoped Victoria knew what she meant, anyway.

"I'm pretty sure that was coming," said Victoria with a smile.

"Did you?"

"I didn't, yet," she said, "but I liked that. I loved that, what we just did."

"If I…." Bizarrely enough, Greta could feel herself blushing, but after everything they'd just done, it was ridiculous to be embarrassed, so she pressed on. "If I did what you just did to me, would you like it?"

Victoria swallowed. "Yeah," she said. "I would. A lot."

"All right." Hesitantly, because she was very much aware of how ignorant she was in such matters, she reached her hand down between Victoria's legs, feeling for the bump. It was warm and slick, and Greta felt another thrill of pleasure run through her whole body, not as much as when she'd come, but the same kind of disorienting tremor. The bump was easy enough to find, and she rubbed in slow circles, thinking about how she liked it when she did things alone.

"Faster," Victoria said breathlessly, and Greta sped up. Then, when Victoria seemed dazed and panting, she stuck one finger in, slowly, cautiously.

"Am I hurting you?" she asked.

"No. You're not hurting me." Victoria's voice sounded more like a groan, but not a pained one. "More."

Greta gently pulled out the first finger and put it back in again with another, and then when Victoria seemed to like that, she added a third and moved them in and out as Victoria had done. It was tight and felt like nothing she'd ever touched before, and the strangeness of it was good, too, as the strangeness of Victoria's fingers had been.

Victoria's breath was coming short and fast now, and she was crying out short little cries on the exhale. Greta didn't want to wake up the guys, so she said, "Shh, shh," kissing her on the mouth.

Victoria panted out, "Hurry, then, if you want me to be quiet," so Greta quickened her pace. And then Victoria was tightening around her fingers, making a high-pitched noise between a sigh and a scream, and Greta wondered if she was seeing the lights.

It felt a little awkward, then, sitting there with her fingers still inside Victoria, so she pulled them out. They were sticky and wet, and she put one to her mouth to see how it tasted. "It's kind of salty," she said, and Victoria rolled her eyes.

"God," she said, "You're going to be the death of me."

"I hope not," said Greta, suddenly chilled, and Victoria laughed.

"You're shivering. Come on, get under the covers."

They had to get off the bed to pull back the covers, and Greta found it really was the cool air in the cave and not a twinge of fear making her shiver now. But then she was wrapped in Victoria's arms, and she could feel Victoria's breasts against her back, and the sheets were warm from what they had done on top of them, and Greta fell asleep in perfect comfort.

The men teased them when they appeared for breakfast in the morning, but Victoria just grinned and made rude gestures at them, so Greta figured it wouldn't be a problem. She felt completely shameless, and it was _wonderful_. Victoria kissed her cheek and handed her a warm bowl of oatmeal with honey, and there was no place Greta would rather have been.

They went out again to work after breakfast, stopping by the Ways' booth on the way from the back entrance to the center of town. "Hey, Ways," said Gabe gaily, plucking a biscuit from the neatly arrayed rows.

Mikey's face was tense, though, as he returned the greeting, and Gerard looked downright frightened. "It's not a good day," Mikey said. "You'd better go, and don't come back for a couple of days at least."

Alex frowned. "Why?"

"The king's dead," said Gerard with a gulp, and Greta felt her heart freeze in her chest. "They're saying it's a heart attack, I think, but everybody's scared and the guards are _everywhere._"

"Shit," said Gabe. "So, what, are they crowning the princess? Is there gonna be a regent ruling for her, or is she getting married, or what?"

"Who knows?" Mikey shook his head. "I just pray to God the looters don't get any ideas in their heads."

"Yeah," Ryland said, nodding. Nate looked terribly worried, and Ryland put an arm around his shoulders. "It's okay," he said. "We'll go away for a day or two, and we'll come back, and things are bound to be better. I mean, the princess, or the queen, or whatever, she can't be any worse than the king was, right?"

"Don't jinx us," muttered Nate. "It can always get worse."

Victoria gave Greta a reassuring smile, and said, "I have a couple of ideas for how we could spend our days off," but the words barely registered. Her father was _dead_. She'd disliked him as long as she could remember, hated him for the last few days, but Greta's father had been one of the immutable truths of her existence, and now she felt like a ship whose moorings had been cut, dropped into the deep sea in the midst of a storm. She had to go back. She wasn't just the princess now, she was the queen, and she couldn't make Amanda shoulder that burden for her. She couldn't foist off her duties on someone else while she enjoyed herself. It wouldn't be right.

"I have to go," she said, and her voice sounded strange to her, like it belonged to somebody else.

"We all do," Victoria said, frowning. "The sooner the better."

"No, I mean…." She grabbed Victoria's hand and gripped it tightly, looking her straight in the eyes, willing her to understand. "I have to leave now. I don't think I'll be back."

Victoria looked disbelieving. "What? Where are you going?"

"Home," said Greta, and Victoria dropped her hand. The look in her eyes hurt Greta's heart. "Victoria," she said, "Believe me, I want you--I want to stay with you. I just have things I need to do."

They were all staring at her now, Gerard and Mikey just looking confused, the gang of pickpockets ranging in expression from frustrated to furious to understanding. But Victoria's face was the worst.

 

_Am I hurting you?_ Greta had asked the previous night. Victoria had said no, then, but she looked like she'd have a different answer, now, and Greta couldn't stand it. She turned and ran.

It wasn't hard to find the palace, not when it was the point to which all the swarming people in the city were flocking. Pushing her way through the crowd to the gates was a little harder, but she managed it, making it all the way to the two worried guards standing in front of the little gatehouse.

"I need to get in," she said.

One of the guards, a man with bushy brown hair and stubbly cheeks, snorted. "Yeah, you and everybody else here. Believe me, when we know more about the king's death, you'll know."

"It's not that," she said. "I'm the princess Greta Morgan Salpeter of the realm of Hush Sound, and I think they need me in there."

The brown-haired guard stared at her incredulously. "Oh, yeah fucking right!"

"Look." She pulled out the signet ring and prayed that the royal seal was something the palace guards would recognize.

The brown-haired guard started to wave her on dismissively, but his partner, a long-haired man with spectacles and a beard, frowned at the ring. "Hold on, Joe," he said. To Greta, he added, "Can I look at this for a minute?"

"Of course." Anything that would gain her entrance.

The second guard peered curiously at it for a long moment while the curious crowd started to cluster around Greta. Finally, he said, "Well. It's the royal seal, all right. Whether she came by this legitimately or not, I think one of us ought to take her inside."

Joe looked like he wanted to argue, but the other guard thrust the ring in his face, and he took it and studied it intensely. Finally, he said, "Okay, Andy. I'll buy it. But I don't think we should be leaving this post." He peered nervously out at the crowd. "The people are getting pretty damned restless."

Andy nodded. "Good point. Matt!" A figure dashed down from one of the guard towers and popped out of the gatehouse—unsurprisingly, a third guard. "So, uh, this might or might not be the princess," said Andy. "Wanna take her inside?"

Matt's eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped. He looked from Andy to Joe to Greta and then back at Andy. "Uh. Sure," he said.

Matt cast her curious glances all the way there, but he didn't say anything, so Greta felt more or less justified in ignoring him. If she let herself think about anything other than getting back to fulfill her duties, she would completely fall apart, she just knew it.

"So, um," Matt said, and Greta realized with a start that she was standing outside a room in the palace, and within she could hear, among other voices, Amanda's and Patrick's. "Here's where all the king's advisors are, and the princess. Or…not the princess?" he shrugged. "So, I guess this is where you should be."

"Thank you, Matt," she said, and she strode in.

For a minute, everybody turned and stared at her without saying a thing. Amanda's face was thoughtful, Patrick's was pale and fierce-eyed, and Bob's was relieved; everyone else looked more or less confused. Then Patrick and Bob descended on her.

"Oh, my God," Patrick murmured into her hair, wrapping his arms tightly around her. "I'm going to kill you, I swear to God. They're gonna execute me for treason, but I don't even care. What the hell were you thinking?"

"You were supposed to be back the day before yesterday!" Bob said indignantly, trying to hug her around Patrick's arms. "Jesus, I thought you'd been kidnapped or killed or something! Of course, you were probably just sitting around laughing about what a doofus I was, like usual, huh?"

"Kind of," Greta said, trying to smile, but suddenly she was crying, and Bob was pressing a handkerchief into her hand, wiping tears away with his fingers.

"I was just kidding, about the kidnapping," he said. "Oh, God, I'm such an idiot, did you actually get kidnapped?"

Greta shook her head without saying anything, and Amanda stood and walked over, peering curiously at her.

"Well, did you have a good time?" she asked. And then, with a frown, she added, "What'd you do with my dress?"

She and Victoria had been planning on washing it after work. It was still lying folded on Victoria's floor. "I'll pay you back for it," she said shakily, and Amanda's face softened.

"Don't worry about it," she said lightly. "I stole something like half a dozen dresses out of your closet, and at least three pairs of shoes."

A voice Greta didn't recognize said, "Um, what the hell?"

Patrick stepped back, keeping one arm around Greta. "Ah. Pete, this is Greta, Crown Princess of Hush Sound. Your Highness, this is Lord Peter of Wentz, your chamberlain, and a pain in my ass almost as big as you."

"Wait, what?" Pete looked between Amanda and Greta. "If this is the princess, then who's this?" He gestured at Amanda.

"Amanda Palmer," said Amanda, striding confidently over to Pete to shake his hand. "Pleased to meet you." Pete looked as if he'd been hit upside the head with a hammer; Amanda smiled, and Bob turned his head away from Greta for a moment to give Amanda a look of pure adoration.

Greta couldn't let herself be too amused by all this, though; she had more important matters to discuss. "Patrick," she said, "My father's dead."

Patrick bit his lip and nodded. "Yeah, he is," he said, and he drew Greta back into a hug. "I'm so sorry."

Greta wasn't, not really, but she couldn't stop crying, and it was another moment before she said, "And so I have to be the queen, don't I?"

"Not right away," Patrick said hastily. "I mean, yeah, they'll want to crown you pretty quickly, but you've got a room full of advisers here who'll help you every step of the way, and you know you've always got me, so you've got a while before you're gonna have to make any of the hard decisions."

"Okay," said Greta, kissing his cheek and pulling away a little bit. "If I'm the queen, do I have to get married? Or can I choose who I want to marry?"

Patrick looked perplexed. "Honey, when you're the queen, you can do whatever the hell you want. You can marry a horse, if you like. It'd be really strange, and I hope you don't, but you could do it."

All this sounded promising, but she had to be sure. "And if I wanted to maybe court a woman who's been a thief for a while, but who's kind and generous and plays a mean accordion, and if maybe after that, I wanted to marry her?"

"Whoa," said Bob, and Patrick threw a hand over his eyes.

"Oh, Greta," he said. But then he uncovered his eyes again and gave her a watery smile. "Your Highness, you can do whatever you want," he said. "But now, I think maybe you'd better have a bath and change your clothes."

Greta took a deep breath and thought about all the things she had to do. "Okay," she said.

 

_One month later_

Victoria generally approved of the new queen; she'd lifted the ban on busking, she'd opened up the palace stores, which were _ridiculously_ abundant, to the people suffering from the drought, and she'd dropped the taxes down to levels people could actually pay and still feed their families. The guards were less ever-present, the curfew had been removed, and hell, even the penalties for hunting without a permit had been abolished. On the whole, Victoria had few complaints. Still, when two guards from the palace showed up at the cave saying that the queen wanted to see them, she couldn't help but think that the apple didn't fall far from the tree, and that they were in for a whole mess of hands-on witch-hunting, or rather, thief-hunting.

Gabe did his level best to sweet talk the guards into letting them go, but when the one with wild brown hair said, "Seriously, it's nothing bad, she just wants to talk to you," he let it go, raising his eyebrows in Victoria's direction. It was strange, all right, there was no doubt about that.

For a moment, Victoria thought of Greta, and how she would probably have loved to see the queen. Then again, seeing the real queen might have upset her fairy-tale fantasies. The whole thing was damned stupid. She'd known Greta for less than a week; it was past time to let it go and face the future, even if that future wasn't very long.

The palace was grand, grander than anything Victoria had ever seen. She'd only ever seen it from the outside, and that was years ago; she'd never seen the entrance hall, with its huge vaulted ceilings and tapestries, or the marble staircase, or the throne room, guarded by empty suits of armor and two real guards, who winked at them as they were led inside.

The throne room was beautiful, too, with shiny marble floors and bright stained-glass windows. No wonder the palace had cost so much to build. But of course the main attraction was up front, where the queen and her advisers sat, and Victoria peered over Ryland's shoulder to see…

Greta.

"Oh, fuck me," said Gabe, and one of the guards frowned at him. But Greta beamed, looking as sweet and innocent as she had ever looked, and stood up.

"Hello," she said with a wave. "Did I or did I not _tell_ you I was the princess?"

Alex gulped. "Oh my God, I think I'm going completely insane." Nate nodded fervently, and Ryland rubbed his eyes, as if he couldn't actually believe what he was seeing. Victoria, well. Victoria let the last sliver of hope curl up in her heart and die, because this was not the reunion she'd dreamed of, this was the queen, punishing them for making her carry water and steal money. She was going to throw them in prison, or execute them, and she would never, ever look at Victoria with longing in her eyes again, not here, where she could have any lord—or lady—in the land.

Greta laughed, a light tinkling sound, and said, "Relax, I didn't call you here to scare you or punish you or anything. But really, you ought to see your faces!"

Victoria couldn't even begin to imagine what her face looked like. Probably ghastly. She bowed deeply, more as a distraction or a disguise than as a show of respect. The boys followed suit. But when Victoria worked up the nerve to peer through her hair at Greta—at the queen—she didn't look satisfied and regal, as Victoria had half expected. She looked almost hurt.

"I…." she started, and then stopped and swallowed and started again. "I'm really not going to hurt you. I owe you a lot, so much, and I just want to thank you for everything you did for me." She paused. "Aren't you going to say something? Any of you?"

Nate looked up, ignoring Ryland poking him in the shoulder, and said, "So, wait, you really _were_ the princess? The whole time?"

The queen nodded. "Yeah."

"Wow." Nate sounded completely awed. "And I always just thought you were kind of weird. Sorry."

The queen laughed, a short, bright sound. "Don't worry about it. It wouldn't have been nearly so fun if you'd actually treated me like the princess, and the whole thing was probably the most fun I've ever had in my life, so, you know, don't feel bad about it or anything. If you do, because right now you're actually probably mad at me."

"Not especially," said Gabe. "Wait 'till I tell people I taught the queen dirty drinking songs." He grinned, and Victoria could feel the mood in the room lighten.

"And I've been teaching them to all my friends here," said the queen with a smile. "We could have a whole drinking song concert." Her smile faded, and she sighed. "So, um, as you've probably guessed, I can't really help you guys steal anymore. As fun as it was to tell Lord Ryan I helped steal his pocket money, it's kind of frowned upon for a queen to condone and assist in acts of thievery or whatever. So, if you could stop stealing, it'd make my life a lot easier."

Victoria could scarcely believe that this was the _queen_, not ordering, but nicely _asking_ them not to steal. But then, with the handouts from the royal treasury and the lower taxes, they hadn't even needed to steal much lately, so it wasn't so surprising when Gabe said, "Well, if you're gonna keep changing things up around here, I don't see why not. I mean, I'm a talented guy, I've got other prospects. We can concentrate on our music."

"Sure," said Ryland, and he flicked the back of Gabe's head with one finger. "You could use the practice."

"It'd sure be nice to live somewhere that wasn't a _cave_ for a while," said Alex thoughtfully, and Nate just smiled. He'd never been an enthusiastic thief to begin with, and Victoria thought he'd probably be happier if they could somehow make a living busking.

Greta smiled again, bigger than before. "That's wonderful," she said. "That's, oh, it'll be great to play with you again, sometime. If you want, you could come stay at the palace for a while. I mean, you were so hospitable to me, sharing your food and your home and everything, so maybe I could return the favor."

"Uh, wow," Alex said. "I…." He looked around at the others, and met Victoria's eye. She nodded; even if things would never be the same again, staying in the palace would be the experience of a lifetime, and maybe she'd get to see Greta, if only as a friend. "We would love that," Alex finished, and Greta clapped her hands together happily.

"This is seriously shaping up to be the best day ever," she said. "Oh, hold on, if you wait a second, I could change out of this tent"—she gestured towards her huge, ceremonial gown—"and into some real person clothes, and I could give you the grand tour."

"Fantastic," said Ryland, raising his eyebrows, and the queen grinned.

"This is going to be great," she said. "Oh, Victoria, could you come with me to my chambers? I still have your dress—I cleaned it for you, though. I've been waiting for a chance to give it to you."

Victoria opened her mouth and found it painfully hard to speak around the lump in her throat. "That'd be wonderful, Your Highness," she said. That was it. Greta would return the dress, Victoria's first pathetic attempt at a gift, and it would all be over, as if it had never been.

She followed the queen out of the throne room, unable to meet the eyes of any of the courtiers or guards, or take in the splendor of the palace. Even the queen's figure was swimming in front of her eyes. She just hoped she didn't cry.

They didn't go far, though, not nearly far enough to reach the queen's chambers. Greta grabbed her hand and pulled, and suddenly they were standing in a little out-of-the-way nook, out of hearing distance from the guards at the throne room door.

"Victoria," said the queen, and Victoria was shocked to hear the tremor in her voice. "I'm so sorry I had to leave—I kept thinking, 'God, am I just like Elisa?' but I'm _not_, because I swear to God, you're the only one I want. It's not like I _wanted_ to leave, but my father died—_somebody_ had to be queen, and I thought it might as well be me. I mean, Amanda could have done it, but it wouldn't have been fair to her, not when there was so much work to be done. Please, please don't be angry."

Anger couldn't possibly have been farther from Victoria's mind. She couldn't blame Greta for not telling her, when she had told all of them she was the princess again and again, and they'd only mocked and mistrusted her. She couldn't blame her for leaving, either, because obviously the princess would have bigger and more important things to do after the king's death than hang around with a gang of thieves or fool around with a girl. _You're the only one I want_, Greta had said, but obviously the queen wouldn't actually be having an affair with a peasant prostitute-turned-thief, and there wasn't any point in getting her hopes up. "I'm not angry," she managed to say. "Thank you for your kindness."

But Greta's face fell, and Victoria wished she had found anything else to say. "It's not kindness," Greta said. "It's not even gratitude. I've had a million suitors, and I never felt anything for any of them like I felt for you. Honest. I've worked it out with my advisors, and they say I don't have to marry for diplomacy or everything—I mean, it helps, especially if I want to expand the kingdom, but it's not like there aren't other ways of making treaties, and I think the kingdom's big enough, don't you?"

She bit her lower lip, apparently frustrated, and Victoria was frozen in place, trying to understand just what it was she was saying. "Yes," she said, because Greta had asked, and she didn't know what else she could say.

"Yeah," said Greta softly. "So, if you ever forgive me--because I'm not expecting anything, and I'd never make you do anything you didn't want to--they said I can court whoever I want, or marry whoever I want, and if you still want me…." She was smiling, but it wasn't the confident smile of a queen. It was the scared smile of Greta, who didn't know how to steal or how to fill a water bucket or how to fuck, but who was willing to try them all anyway, because her life was a fairy tale, but she wanted to make it real.

"I still want you," said Victoria. And Greta smiled, the sweet, sunburned smile that had made Victoria's heart first shake, and somehow, without even meaning to, Victoria was reaching out and pulling the queen—the _queen_—into a deep kiss.

Greta didn't pull back, and for the first time in a long time, Victoria thought maybe life did have happy endings.


End file.
